It Is Personal
by ElizabethAnnFanfic
Summary: Post-episode fic for 6x13 Arcadia. Humor, UST, Angst, Friendship. Mulder and Scully fly home from their assignment as a married couple in California. Scully is still irritated over Mulder's dealings with Diana Fowley in "One Son".
1. Chapter 1

Timeline: 6x13 Arcadia

Category: Post-episode

Angst, Humor, Friendship, UST

Author's Note:

Set following "Arcadia", which according to production schedule was supposed to air after "One Son". It was delayed in the airing schedule due to technical problems making the trash monster not look like #%$&! It still did, I think. Anyway, that is why they say in the episode that it is their first case back on the X-Files. So, in this fic Mulder and Scully are finished up in Arcadia, but still dealing with the Fowley fall-out.

Chapter One

Mulder took Scully's carry-on bag from her and deposited it in the overhead bin. She looked up at him, a little surprised at his momentary act of chivalry. There was no reason to pretend anymore, after all. They were no longer Rob and Laura Petrie. He was no longer the doting husband, teasing her about her belief in magnetized bracelets and crystals. She would have no reason to call him 'poopyhead.' There were things he sometimes wanted Scully to call him, but 'poopyhead' never had made the list. Although, he wouldn't mind it if she said it sotto voce while her fingers made quick work of his button-down shirt. Without the mud mask perhaps.

A man cleared his throat behind him in the aisle and Mulder realized that he'd been standing there dumbly for a moment. Scully was already in the window seat, waiting from him to sit down with both brows raised. It was her—earth to Mulder—look. He was used to it.

He bent down, ducking his head to avoid knocking it into the overhead bins and then struggled awkwardly to arrange himself in the seat. The metal of the unlatched seatbelt was painfully jabbing him in his posterior. He leaned forward as much as he could in the confined space, turning to try to retrieve the offending item.

"Hold on," Scully ordered him in a slightly exasperated tone, as she gave him a hand and fished out the seatbelt and handed it over to him.

"Thanks." He flashed her a smile, but she ignored him as she began to search through the seat pocket in front of her.

He clicked the seatbelt together and tried unsuccessfully to stretch his legs. As passengers continued to board the plane, he couldn't take advantage of the extra room the aisle seat normally afforded him: he'd be tripping every person that walked by if he did.

He glanced over at her as she perused the contents of the seat pocket. They hadn't been gone long enough that the in-flight magazine had changed issues. It was the same one as on the flight to California that featured articles on locations famed for their gardens. They'd just come from a well-manicured planned community, and he had no desire to stroll through gardens for the time being. And he knew the air safety card by memory. Not that it would make much of a difference in an actual emergency, but it was something to stare at on long flights.

But, Scully seemingly had found something else stuffed in the pocket other than a sick bag.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked, leaning into her space slightly as she flipped over a magazine to the front cover.

It was a Cosmo. He recognized the splash of headlines about diets and fashion and men and wild sex as being typical fare. There was a movie actress posed on the cover that he felt he should know, but he couldn't pull up a name. She didn't star in the movies in which he indulged.

"Someone left it, I guess," he said, straightening back up in his seat.

"Mmhmm," Scully agreed, flipping the magazine open.

It was the first thing she'd said to him all morning that didn't involve semi-irritated orders. Don't be late, Mulder. Drive faster, Mulder. Don't forget your bag, Mulder. Step up to the counter, Mulder. Tie your shoe, Mulder.

So, she was still a little pissed. And he was well aware of why that might be the case, even though he'd played it light and easy while they were on assignment. Needling her at every chance seemed like the best way to diffuse the tension. Maybe he hadn't been terribly successful.

Scully was a jealous creature. He was well aware of that by now. It didn't give him any pleasure to know that Scully was territorial. He could have deluded himself that it was due to feelings she harbored for him in secret, but he knew better. Once they were partners and friends with an elaborate set of unspoken rules about their relationship, Scully simply couldn't tolerate outside interference. Especially of the female kind. He could see it from Scully's point of view if he tried. Diana would waltz back into his life with a history that allowed her manipulate him, should she choose. Diana had tools at her disposal that Scully was banned from using due to international Dana Scully professional rule code 21A—thou shalt not seduce one's partner. She didn't believe it was a fair fight, especially since she probably assumed that her partner couldn't help but think with his smaller head. She was only partially right. Diana wouldn't think twice about using her _charms_ to help win her point, but Mulder wasn't interested in what she was selling anymore.

He looked out of the corner of his eye at Scully, who was continuing to flip through the magazine. He didn't imagine that she was the kind of woman who read magazines like this. He'd certainly never seen her pick one up. But, it was going to be a long flight home and it was something to look at for a while. He might even take it from her when she was finished with it, despite the momentary embarrassment it might cause him.

Too bad the magazine wouldn't contain any helpful tips on how to get their friendship back on track. He knew their partnership was safe. And he knew that she still cared. She didn't want him to get devoured by a trash monster any more than he wanted her to. But, they had hit a bump in the road. It would be nice to put things to right and have everything back to the status quo. He didn't much like having Scully be angry with him. Not really, even if he did enjoy getting under her skin from time to time.

Mulder drummed his fingers on the arm rest as the plane began to make its way down the runway. He didn't mind flying, but he could do without take offs. It always seemed to him that the plane would shake apart before they reached cruising altitude.

They did a dip as they climbed higher that caught him off guard and he gripped the armrest tightly. "Shit," he cursed quietly.

Scully glanced at him sideways and tapped on the top of his whitening knuckles with her index finger. "We're okay."

He let go of the armrest and gave a tight lipped nod.

"Not afraid of anything but a little turbulence, Mulder?"

"You know I don't like takeoffs."

He took a deep breath, calming his flipping stomach. At least Scully seemed like her frost was melting a little bit. Maybe she enjoyed seeing him act vulnerable rather than smug. Maybe he'd played this all wrong.

Mocking her by saying she wanted to play house probably wasn't the best idea. Besides, if she actually wanted to play house, which he knew she didn't, he'd stand in line to be her playmate. He had no reason to mock her. Other than his own insecurities. The more he felt as if she didn't want him the way he wanted her, the more he was tempted to tease and play. It certainly wasn't particularly helpful in repairing their relationship.

She flipped another page and he glanced down at the magazine once more. 'Ten Ways to Please a Man' the article said in bold white block letters.

"You don't need an article for that," he mumbled.

Scully paused, before shooting him a look that could kill. "What was that?" she asked icily.

"I'm just saying, you don't need an article to tell you how to do something like that," he gestured, trying to stem her anger.

"I wasn't seeking advice, thank you," she said, flipping the page while still giving him a frosty glare.

"It's a waste of time, writing an article like that. Men aren't that complex."

"Really?" she asked, raising one red arched brow.

"You're more complex than I'll ever be."

Scully pursed her lips. "I'll give you that."

He knew she didn't mean that as a compliment.

"But, Mulder, you don't give yourself enough _credit_. There are things you do that are shockingly unpredictable."

She turned back to her magazine, and Mulder swallowed.

"Just when I think I've got you figured out…" she mused, flipping through the pages.

Mulder was certain she wasn't actually seeing any of the pages as they flew by under her quick perusal.

The flight attendant approached with the cart and Mulder put down his tray table.

"Can I offer you a drink and a snack?" the woman asked, bending over the cart towards their row.

"Ginger ale and a Diet Coke," Mulder supplied.

"Water," Scully corrected.

Mulder bit his lip. He could see that the attendant was a little baffled by the differing orders.

"Ginger ale and water," he explained, running his hand through his hair so as to have something to do with himself until he could hand Scully her water.

Scully always ordered a Diet Coke when they traveled. She'd explained early in their partnership that she knew water would be better for her in the dehydrated conditions of an airplane, but that she couldn't help but ask for a Diet Coke. Her caffeine addiction had to be fed even at this altitude. After a couple of years of being paired up together, Mulder had begun to order for her. He didn't know how much he enjoyed doing that until she cut him off with her testy order for water. Apparently, she was drawing some kind of line that he wasn't supposed to cross. A line that included drink orders.

He handed her the water that the attendant held out and she mumbled a "thanks" to him as a seeming afterthought.

Mulder took a large gulp from his plastic cup, draining half of the ginger ale in one try.

"Scully," he said, setting his cup down.

"Mmmm?" she murmured, failing to look up from her magazine.

"I wanted to tell you that I believed you."

She knit her brow, causing little lines to form above the bridge of her nose. The little Roman nose he often wanted to kiss. She'd swat him if he tried.

"I believed you…I didn't want to, but…you were suspicious, so I was too," he continued.

Her confusion didn't lift.

"About Diana."

Scully shook her head. "We're not discussing this."

"Why not?"

He knew why. There was nowhere to bolt: she was trapped.

"You said she was lying to me and I decided to check it out," Mulder insisted, leaning in close to her so he could lower his voice.

She shifted in her seat, gaining an inch in distance from him.

"Mulder…" she warned him.

"I went to her place."

Scully snorted, "I bet you did."

She folded the magazine up and shoved it back into the seat pocket. Scully was convinced that his brain was clouded by unprofessional feelings for Diana. Well, he had been entertaining unprofessional feelings for Scully for years, and he'd still managed to make the right choices. Mostly.

"To investigate," he clarified.

Yes, he was digging around in Diana's lingerie, but he didn't need to share that detail.

Scully crossed her arms across her chest. "What did you find?"

"Nothing."

"Mmhmm," she said cocking her head.

"Look, I screwed up."

Scully's face went blank for a moment. He realized his apology was probably more of a shock than anything else he'd said or done in the past few weeks.

"But, if it's all going to end…in a flood of alien spaceships from the sky or in a fiery plane crash…I'd like to be with you. And I'd rather you weren't pissed at the time…poopyhead." He gave her a lopsided grin, hoping she would see through his joke to the truth of his confession.

Scully continued to stare at him without giving any sign that she had understood one word that he had said.

"Because…it _is_ personal," he finished.

* * *

She knew what he was trying to say, so she tried not to be thrown by the memory of the statement she'd made and increasingly regretted. Mulder accusing her of 'making it personal' was as good as calling her out. He was pointing out her jealousy. Her personal dislike of Diana Fowley that had nothing to do with her abilities as an agent and everything to do with the woman's hold over Fox Mulder. It wouldn't have mattered whether Diana was on the right side or on the wrong side: Scully knew that she would have disliked her no matter what. She disliked the woman's height. Her huge breasts. Her beliefs. But, she didn't dislike her as a woman: she disliked her as a woman who used all these things to influence Fox Mulder. Scully didn't want to be a part of a threesome. She was supposed to share her ideas with Mulder and he was supposed to tell her what he thought; there was no room for a prying third party, who would always undermine her opinion.

And the idea that this woman had shared more than a belief system with Mulder was irritating too. How could she hope to compete with that? She didn't like to admit that such things concerned her, and she worried that Mulder was aware of her less than high-minded objections to Diana. He was insinuating as much in his pronouncement: "You're making this personal."

Of course, when he thought it really was all coming to an end, he'd called her. He truly had wanted her with him. She still ranked, even if she didn't have the advantage of having done the naked pretzel with him. She considered for a moment how much that spoke to their deeper connection. She didn't need to have a sexual hold over Mulder: what they shared was worth more than that.

"Poopyhead is _your_ nickname, Mulder. Not mine," Scully corrected, her mouth betraying the hint of a smile.

* * *

"Sorry," he replied.

He meant it as a broad apology for everything he had done. For making her think that Diana meant more to him than she did. For giving her a moment's pain. For teasing her and pretending to taking joy in her discomfort. Because, he knew she cared. She cared for him more than anyone; and if he stopped being an ass for a moment, she'd probably be able to relax.

"What would you rather be called, _honey_?" he asked, squeezing her knee.

"'Scully' is fine."

"Not 'Dana'?"

She rolled her eyes. "You want me to start calling you Fox?"

At first it was a way to keep his partner at arm's length, making her call him 'Mulder,' but now he was rather fond of the multitude of ways she said his name. The way she said, "Good morning, Mulder," every time she came in the office. Or the sleepy sound of her, "S'that you, Mulder?" in the middle of the night when he roused her with a call. Even her irritated 'Mulder' sounded good to him.

"Nah, 'Mulder' is fine."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

An attendant came by with a black trash bag and Mulder tossed his and Scully's empty cups into it as she walked by. As he did so, Scully reached over and placed his tray back in the upright position. It was just a small gesture, but it was better than her making him a sandwich.

"I enjoyed playing house with you this week," he said, wriggling for room and succeeding in bumping her calf with his own.

She was back in her professional gear: black skirt, white blouse, and black jacket. And those three inch heels.

She glanced down at the leg that had invaded her space. "Is that what we were doing?"

"Sure. House, yard, neighbors. A suburban dream."

"Nightmare," she amended his assessment.

In reality, the whole scenario had made him a little queasy. On a good day the prospect of pretending to be married to Scully would have made him nervous, but in Scully's current state, he was especially on edge. It wasn't that he was concerned that he'd forget himself: he knew that they were partners. It was true that they'd been closer of late than ever before—until Diana Fowley waltzed back into his life again. But, he was still very much aware that they were partners and friends. They were close. Very close. Not romantically involved, however. There was no chance he'd forget that; he was only too aware of it. No, the concern was that this kind of farce would only serve to remind Scully of everything she had given up in order to be his partner and friend. She didn't want to be married to him, but she probably wouldn't mind being married to someone else. Someone normal.

"You don't dream of manicured lawns, two full baths, and a Ken doll husband, Scully?"

* * *

She sometimes contemplated a different life. The kind of life that some of her former girlfriends were now living out. It did involve a house, a yard, 2.5 kids, and a husband. But, as incomplete as she sometimes felt, she didn't think that particular vision would be any better than the one she was currently living. She'd be missing out on all the things that _did_ make her feel whole: the challenges of her job, the feeling that the work she did was important…her partner.

"You're no Ken, Mulder."

"I'm not made of molded plastic," he shrugged.

"Too bad," Scully murmured, poking him in the calf with the tip of her shoe.

A poseable Mulder that didn't talk back. The strong silent type with perfect plastic hair that didn't ever suffer from unfortunate haircuts. Ken's legs were always getting stuck in the Barbie's convertible, however, as she remembered it. That would be inconvenient on assignment.

"I'd be willing to give it another shot with you, if this week wasn't what you had in mind," he said, leaning his elbow on the armrest and bestowing a wide smile on her.

"It wasn't. But, what would you do differently?" she asked, gamely playing along.

"Shoot more hoops."

Scully rolled her eyes. It couldn't be—help with the dishes.

"_And_…we never did get a chance to make that video," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Scully shook her head dismissively before peeking out at the cloud bank visible through the small oval window.

"I need to work on my flexibility before something like that," Scully deadpanned as she continued to peer out the window.

Mulder sputtered, coughing into his hand.

* * *

Mulder attempted to regain his composure by biting his bottom lip and trying to banish all visions of his partner in various states of undress from his overheated brain. He couldn't look at her—just watching her press her hand to her mouth to cover her yawn was enough to trigger additional x-rated thoughts.

"What would _you_ do differently?" he asked.

Scully considered for a moment. "A bigger bathtub. For a top planned community the bathrooms were subpar."

Scully soaking in a tub full of slippery bubbles wasn't exactly helping him scrub his mind clean.

"Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub," Mulder replied flippantly.

"Knaves all three," Scully retorted. "Besides, I'd settle for just one."

Mulder crossed his legs, bumping his shin into the seat in front of him in the process. The conversation had gone too far. Sometimes his innuendos got him into trouble like that. After all the teasing he'd doled out this week, he speculated that Scully was well aware that her comments were beginning to make him uncomfortable and that she was enjoying it.

"But, whatever it was we were doing this week, it tired me out," Scully said with a small yawn.

He knew what they _hadn't_ been doing. It was the only thing he could think about at this moment.

"Well…uh, why don't you get some sleep?" He asked as he unbuckled himself before she could respond. "I'll grab you a blanket."

He ducked into the aisle and popped up the latch for the storage bin to find her an airline blue polyester blanket. Finding one, he clicked the bin shut and sat back down in the seat. This time he didn't sit on a metal seatbelt—Scully had draped it across the armrest to prevent him from doing so.

He handed the blanket to her, and she rewarded him with a smile. Scully was not the type to spend her days endlessly smiling, so he was pleased to see her smile—a genuine non-Laura smile—grace her Cupid's bow red lips.

"You should get some rest too," Scully advised him as she draped herself with the blanket.

They had boarded the plane at 10 PM in California and wouldn't land until 6 AM in D.C. It would be nice to get some sleep. Scully was able to conk out on the red-eye, but he had never had any success. She was always telling him to get some rest, even when she knew he was unlikely to do so. He appreciated the concern nonetheless.

"I'll be okay," he assured her.

…

The early light of the day began to stream in through the plane's windows. Scully was still asleep and Mulder didn't want her to be awakened by the light. Over the past few hours, Scully's head had come to rest against his shoulder, so he moved carefully so as to avoid jostling her as he reached across her and pulled down the plastic shade.

He glanced down at her: still asleep. Her lashes rested against her cheeks and her lips were slightly parted. He could feel her breath against his neck. If there had been any hope of falling asleep during the flight, the pleasant distraction of the weight of her head and feel of her breath against his skin had put an end to it. Not that he would have wished it to be any different.

He cherished these moments of intimacy. Even if she was unaware of some of them. He might not be able to fall asleep with her curled up in the bed like baby kittens, but he enjoyed a level of intimacy with her that he didn't take for granted. Scully didn't just hand out all-access passes into her personal space. Granted, he was constantly pushing: placing his hand on the small of her back, draping his arm over her shoulder, leaning into her personal space. And yes, he wouldn't mind taking it even further, if she'd let him. Give him an inch and he'd take a mile. But, she didn't throw him off, and that was something in and of itself.

"Sir," the flight attendant said in hushed tones, bending down by his side. "We're going to be landing soon. All seats need to be in their upright position."

Mulder nodded in response and waited for Scully to slowly come to. There were no immediate signs of her waking, however, and he glanced at her hooded eyes once more. She seemingly was still very much asleep. He reached over her and found the button on the armrest that caused the seat to recline. Depressing it, Scully began to tilt forward. Finally, she began to move slightly, knitting her brows as if in frustration but keeping her eyes shut. He watched wordlessly as she readjusted her head on his shoulder.

Well, if she was that tired, he certainly wasn't going to rouse her. It could wait until they were on the ground.

Through the captain's announcements and the bouncing landing, Scully continued to sleep against his shoulder seemingly unmoved. Mulder kept checking on her every few minutes, waiting for her to be awakened, but it seemed as if nothing could break through her heavy veil of sleep. Scully sometimes slept like this, Mulder knew. She was gifted with the power of sleep that eluded him.

They continued to sit in their seats—Mulder sitting hands folded in his lap and Scully rotated awkwardly in her seat with her cheek pressed to his shoulder—as the rest of the plane's passengers passed them by. He let them pass by without waking his partner. They'd have to be back at work in a couple of hours, and he didn't mind letting her catch a couple extra minutes of sleep. She deserved as much.

Finally, Mulder glanced to his left to see that the plane had emptied of all of its passengers. Only the flight attendants were left busy cleaning up the cabin.

"Scully," he said softly, tucking the strand of red hair that had fallen across her sleeping face behind her ear. "Scully, we've landed."

Her chin bombed downwards at the sound of his words. "Hmm?" she murmured, her eyes blinking in the artificial light of the cabin.

"We've landed in D.C. We need to get our bags at the carousel."

She wiped at her eyes. "We're here?"

"Mmhmm. Less than two hours until we've got to be at work."

"Damn," she cursed under her breath. She unlatched her seatbelt as Mulder did the same. "Did you sleep too?" she asked, clearing her throat of the husky quality it had taken on during her sleep. It was a shame, he liked it.

"A little," he lied.

He stood up and opened the overhead bin, pulling down both of their bags and placing hers in the aisle for her. Scully stood, hunched over in the seats and glanced around the plane.

"Why are we the last ones on the plane?" she asked, suddenly sounding very awake.

"You were really tired," Mulder said, pretending to fidget with the handle of his bag, so as to avoid her questioning gaze.

Scully bumped her knee as she scooted out from the seats into the aisle.

"Careful, sleepy," Mulder advised her.

Scully grabbed the telescoping handle of her bag and began to drag it down the aisle at a clipped pace. Mulder followed behind her, lugging his own bag.

"Excuse me, sir," a voice interrupted him from behind.

Mulder turned to address the speaker—one of the flight attendants.

"Your wife forgot this," she said, holding up the Cosmo magazine.

"Oh, it wasn't hers. Thanks," Mulder said, turning back to continue following his partner out of the plane.

Scully stood in the aisle, her hand still wrapped around the handle of her bag ready to move forward, but waiting for Mulder with a somewhat amused look playing in her eyes. "Did you pay her to call me that?"

"I didn't need to."

THE END


End file.
